Feelings Aftermath
by Thacmis
Summary: The untold story of Charles and Erik: love, passion and longing are magnified upon separation after that fateful day on the beach. How does one cope - how does one forget? Must they truly remain apart? Angst. A Charles/Erik fanfic.
1. Separation

Derived from the movie _X-Men: First Class_

Why did he refuse to listen? Charles liked his fiery temper, but this - this was too much. Hundreds of lives were at stake, yet Erik would allow his emotions reign his body. It was too much.

"Stop!" he screamed, tackling the man into the sand.

There was a frightening look in Erik's eyes that Charles had never seen before…and it scared him. The glint in those sunken eyes bordered on the maniacal, on insanity. What was worse was that he couldn't read the man's mind, couldn't reach out and calm him, as he did so many times before. The slight hesitation in Charles tackle gave Erik an advantage, who lunged for the opening and with his more powerful muscles hit the professor across the face with unrestrained force. The jaw bones made an audible crack, and Charles moaned in pain.

He closed his eyes to wait for the pain to subside, and felt Erik move off of him, most likely to return aiming those missiles back at the launchers. Charles, however, couldn't stop him, semi-knocked-out as he was. One eye he struggled to open in a squeeze of effort, and saw to overwhelming relief that they missed and the thousands of innocent sailors out there were unharmed.

Charles was still dizzy from the punch. When he pulled himself into a standing position, he was only very vaguely aware of the sound of bullets firing; he didn't realize how close he was to it. When the hazy cloud lifted from his eyes, Charles finally realized that Moira and Erik were having a standoff - her shooting, him deflecting bullets.

"Stop!" he cried, fearing for either's life. The idea that he was much too close to the fight and that his own life was in danger did not even occur to him.

The bullets whizzed around heart-stoppingly close to Erik, and just when he was about to pull Erik down, out of harm's way, a bullet ricocheted off of the German's hand and into his back.

The bullets fired at him were useless. Completely useless. He had enough power to deflect them easily, no sweat. The only problem he had was that there were too many and he hadn't enough time to think about deflecting them and in which direction he should send them. He could only deflect, deflect, deflect, defle-

A short cry sounded behind him. Moira had stopped firing, her hands covering her mouth in shock and terror.

Erik turned around quickly, praying - hoping - the bullet hadn't hit who he thought it had. He felt as if he couldn't turn around quick enough, fast enough, while his fear grew exponentially every ticking nanosecond, squeezing his chest like a claw. He finally saw who it was, and -

No.

No. No. _No_.

Charles was lying on his chest and gasping in pain. The bullet had apparently penetrated his back. Erik rushed to the man and, using his mutant power, he magnetized the piece of bullet and pulled it out of the flesh, while Charles' every groan of pain was felt by himself. When the ordeal was over, Erik gently flipped the professor onto his back to turn the pale young face towards him. It was sheet white and glistened from dirt and the sweat of pain.

His anger exploded like an atomic bomb within his mind, obliterating every rational thought that shared the control of his body. Turning the built up anger towards himself was suicide, so he turned to the one nearest at fault.

Moira. That stupid woman.

Without thinking, Erik allowed his anger to turn into a lust to kill, and used his power to tighten the metal necklace that hung around her neck. She yelped and gasped in pain, but those pitiful sounds only made Erik want to kill her more. Her pain was his redemption, his delight…

"Erik…stop…"

"You did this to him! You did this!" He screamed at her, his anger flying out of control.

"No, Erik…you did this…" The voice was feeble.

That touched a spot in his heart.

His sudden, almost cancerous peak of rage lost its fuel, and it was replaced by regret of equal measure. He stopped and let the woman go. She dropped to her knees and gasped to regain the breaths she had lost in his grip. Erik turned back to look at Charles, grievously pained and remorseful.

"Charles, Charles…I'm…sorry…"

"It's…my back…don't worry. I'm fine."

"You've got to come with me. Please. Try to understand. Humans will see our power, envy us and try to kill us. I'll fight against them, but I need you to be by my side. We both want the same thing. You know we do," he whispered urgently, tears blurring his eyes. _Can't you see? We want to stand against them, and we need each other_, he thought loudly to the injured young man lying, sweating from pain, on the golden sand.

The young man smiled sadly, his piercing blue eyes twinkling dully, a lone, clear tear escaping from those beautiful orbs. "We do not, _my friend_."

Those soft words, spoken by such a soft, smooth tenor voice, penetrated Erik's heart like poisoned arrows. Why? Why? Did they not share beautiful memories together? Or was it all felt only on his side?

All of a sudden he couldn't bear looking at Charles' pained face any longer. He motioned for Moira to come over and take his spot as Charles' support. As much as he disliked the horse-faced woman, he knew she cared enough about the professor that Erik could trust him in her hands.

Then, gathering some of the younger mutants who would side with him, Erik turned to leave. Erik told himself he was eager to leave his old life behind, to leave Charles behind. He told himself it didn't matter whether or not Charles agreed with him. He told himself he'd be much freer without the do-gooder, law-restricted Charles.

But he knew those were all lies.


	2. Charles' Silence

_**A/N: Some slight changes were made...:D**_

Some weeks later…(Charles Xavier)

A small shuffling noise whistled by the window. Charles looked around, wondering what it was. The window was open. How strange, he thought; he clearly remembered having shut the glass before wheeling himself over to his work desk. He couldn't "sense" or see any presence nearby, however, so he refocused his attention on the agenda placed before him.

And then came a soft, deep smooth voice that made Charles' hairs stand on end, from both shock at his failure for detecting a presence and shock at who it was. "What…happened?" It was a voice Charles knew so, so painfully well; every inflection, every note and every tone sent chills up his broken spine. Charles was afraid to turn around, fearing that if he did, it would disappear.

But…what if it _was_ real? Charles turned around slowly, cautiously, towards the voice. There, beside the window nearly invisible under the deep shadows, stood the man whose heart he broke, whose presence gave him such an ease of mind, whose voice he longed to hear, whose body he desired to touch. Just when Charles finally thought he had separated themselves for good, for the sake of both of them, this man was back, staring at him intently with concerned eyes.

_Don't look at me like that, _he thought, feeling a pull towards that man.

"It's…my back," he said haltingly, dumbly; it was such a stupid answer. He cursed himself. Erik knew exactly why Charles was in a wheelchair, and Charles knew bloody well he was asking about the extent of the condition. Goodness, he wished Erik took that atrocious helmet off. If only he knew what Erik was thinking about right now.

"Will you get better?" the honey voice under the helmet asked, turgid with concern.

"I'm as good as I'll get," replied Charles, answering indirectly. He smiled, trying to ease the tension.

"I'm so sorry," the man whispered. An eternity of silenced drifted past them, the air between the two charged and boiling of unspoken emotions. Then the man turned to go, facing the window.

Charles panicked. He was abruptly filled with a want for him to stay. "Wait! I mean, why are you here? You can't really expect me to believe that you came here to ask about my well-being." He waited anxiously for an answer.

Erik had stopped as soon as Charles spoke, as if wanting to stay as well. After a while, he spoke, his voice quiet yet passionate. "Charles, I…I _had _to know what you were truly thinking, on the beach that day. What you truly think of me. And…I…had to see you again." Erik stepped slowly towards Charles, approaching the young professor as if approaching a child that would bolt if scared in the slightest. "Do you truly think of me - _did _you think of me - simply as a friend? Or as something more? Please tell me," he implored breathily, now just mere inches away, so that Charles could touch him, "and if you answer yes, then I won't bother you again. I promise." Erik placed a large, warm hand gently on Charles' cheek and lifted his face up to meet his own.

_No, not as a friend. Never as a friend. You are much more than that, Erik._ "I…I…" Charles couldn't answer. The proximity was making him excited, nervous, and he was aware that his face must be gaining colour, judging from the sudden rise in temperature in the air around his head. He tried to look away, but the hand held firm.

The only thing Charles could do to calm himself was to lower his eyes; look anywhere else but at the man before him. Erik's aggressive aura, however, told him that silence was an unacceptable answer, so he told Erik the truth, his voice shaking a little.

"I missed you."

A cute, hopeful spark flashed in the deep eyes that stared out at him from under the ugly red helmet. But the face did not smile.

"But…do you _love_ me?"

Charles swallowed. As he held those alluringly dark eyes, he felt his face gain colour rapidly. "My face should tell you," he said irritably.

"I need to hear it from you."

Another lengthy amount of time passed. Erik waited, however, apparently willing to wait forever if that was what it took to receive an answer.

"I…" Charles still couldn't say, half from embarrassment, half from the resentment that Erik had left his side. He knew the latter part of his reason was unreasonable, because it was after all he who made Erik leave, but he wished that Erik had left with more reluctance.

Suddenly Erik shortened the space between them, and his ragged breath touched Charles' lips. "I love you so much. I've missed you…so much." His smooth voice was thick with emotions of desire, pain, joy and longing. Charles didn't need to read his mind to know the truth of those sweet words. The voice and the eyes - those wondrous orbs of such alluring mystery - conveyed enough.

If only this moment could last forever.

The professor looked away, pained. However much they loved each other, their relationship was as impossible to hold, to substantialize, as moving Mount Everest. Their longing for one another would ruin each other, and in turn ruin the mutant race, which they have now unwittingly taken position over as leaders. Their frighteningly different ideals would tear them apart. Charles had heard - and knew quite well, having studied psychology many years ago - that deep, stable relationships cannot form if major disagreements existed between people. And he also knew that the moment the professor had refused Erik's offer on that fateful day on the beach, he had set an indelible obstacle between Erik and himself. Did he regret that now? For sure, it left a hole in his heart, an incurable one. But their splitting was inevitable because their beliefs clashed too violently. Coexistence was impossible.

"Charles, tell me what you're thinking. I need to hear your voice," he implored, slightly worried at the length of Charles' silence.

He turned slowly up to look at Erik in the eyes as he tried to think up a half-lie, to keep himself and Erik apart, for the sake of both of them, despite the excruciating reluctance to do so in his heart.

"Erik, I'm sorry…I cannot…I…I don't believe it will work between us. Our beliefs are too different. We consider each other enemies. And I don't know if we do…truly love each other."

Erik stared at him intently. The expression was impossible to comprehend. Charles began to squirm, uncomfortable, under the piercing irises.

Then he did something Charles simply would never have imagined he would do. Though he instantly regretted what he had said - for it was his words that was the cause of Erik's action - Charles could not stop him, because he realized he had secretly wished for it.

The man took off his helmet.

The movement was slow yet determined, as if denying something. "Charles, you are mistaken," He placed the object on the floor next to his feet, and then confronted the professor with eyes more aggressive than ever before. He gripped Charles' hands. "I beg you, search my mind. You will know that I do not lie about this."

Falling prey to his own desire, pushed on by Erik's words, Charles extended a tendril of psychological sensor into Erik's head, trying to be gentle, for he knew how uncomfortable it was to have another's presence in one's own mind.

He was instantly hit by a tsunami of Erik's boiling emotions. It was…intense. It was so passionate and concentrated his eyes watered from the impact.

Charles saw how Erik felt the day on the beach. He felt Erik's burst of frustration and sadness upon hearing the word _friend_, and the overwhelming desire to see his love's face and feel his love's presence and body the day after. Charles saw that Erik had thought about him every single night afterwards, unfailing to recall every tender moment that they had ever shared together. Charles also saw, with shock, sadness and joy, how Erik perceived of him:

Charles was simply the world to him.

He pulled away, shaking. If Charles still had his legs, his knees would have buckled under the sudden influx of emotions. Without realizing it, a single tear had fallen out of his right eye, and he felt it rolling down his cheek. Erik reached out with his thumb and gently wiped it.

"Do you understand?" he whispered softly.

Charles could only nod numbly.

"I need you by my side. You are…everything to me. You were the one who brought me out of the murk. You gave light to my life. You were the first not to see me as a weapon. Please," he implored, "what am I to you?"

What should he say? The truth? But it would bring about ruin. But if he lied, Charles knew he would regret it forever. Either seemed a doomed choice, so he chose to look away instead, refusing to answer.

For hours, it seemed they remained like that. When, at last, Erik saw that the professor would simply not answer, he slowly pulled his hands away, put on his helmet, and stood up. Charles instantly felt the loss of his presence. However, he still refused to look at the man, afraid that if he did he would spill all his true emotions, just as tears were now spilling out of his eyes without his consent.

He still didn't turn to look at his best friend and secret lover even as the latter walked towards the window, but he heard the heaviness and reluctance in those steps. They stopped, suddenly, right by the window.

"I'm sorry. I understand. I won't bother you anymore."

What - ?

"No, Erik!" That wasn't what he meant! Charles snapped his head up, suddenly shot with an acute desire to tell Erik the truth. He shall never forgive himself if he didn't.

But it was too late.

Erik had already left.


	3. Erik's Misconception

Some weeks later…(Erik Lensherr)

A dark silhouette of a thin, young man bent over in a wheelchair became the focus of his eyes. There was absolutely no mistake: the deep chestnut hair pulled back loosely out of the way, the narrow smooth curves of the shoulders, the pale hands dangling over the armrests - he knew them so well. But…why was he in a wheelchair? Had the wound been that severe? Erik's fear was translated into the physical and a shower of cold sweat oozed through his skin.

"What…happened?" he asked fearfully. He immediately cursed himself for asking such a simple a question, the answer of which was rather obvious. What he really meant was how bad the injury was. That, however, wasn't the worst of his embarrassment; what on earth was wrong with him for substituting a greeting with a stupid question, after being apart for so dreadfully long?

The young man turned his head around at the question, at the sudden presence in the room that he must have failed to sense. A rapid medley of emotions flashed across the pale face, including shock, fear, longer…and anger? Those wide, startlingly blue eyes were such wondrous orbs, possessing over Erik such a powerful attraction that he, a master bender of magnetic fields, had never before experienced, and it was all he could do to keep from rushing over to hold the weak young man in his arms. At this moment, Erik wished he could trade his own mutant powers for that of Charles' - he'd give anything to know his precious Charles' mind. What was he truly feeling at Erik's presence?

"It's…my back," came a delayed response. The lyrical tenor washed Erik in a wave of nostalgia. How long had he wanted to hear it again.

Erik decided he would rephrase the question. Erik was genuinely, painfully, worried about the extent of Charles' condition. "Will you get better?"

"I am as good as I'll get," Charles replied with a strained smile, as if telling Erik not to worry. But it worked in just the opposite way: if put in other words, Charles meant he was permanently disabled, and it was all because of Erik. Erik and his anger. If it weren't for his anger, Charles would still be able to walk. If it weren't for his lack of control, the bullet would never have hit him, and robbed Charles half of his body. It was entirely Erik's fault. Charles must hate him. What was he thinking, coming here to find Charles' true feelings, when it was obvious that he was probably better off without him?

"I'm so sorry," he apologized quietly. He turned to leave, overwhelmed by sadness. It was surprising how painful the idea of Charles hating him was.

"Wait!" Charles called. Erik stopped, startled at the call and the sudden pitch of desperation in the beloved tenor voice. "I mean," he said, sounding a little more controlled, "why are you here? You can't really expect me to believe that you came here to ask about my well-being."

Erik feared to hope that Charles may actually still think about him, still consider him forgivable, still care for him, and he longed for Charles' affection so deeply that he could nearly taste it. He also longed fiercely to know what he truly meant to Charles, since they had parted without closure of their feelings. A lover? Family? Simply a friend? Or…nothing?

"Charles, I…I _had_ to know what you were truly thinking, on the beach that day. What you truly think of me." Erik turned to face him to show the honesty of his words. "And…I…had to see you again." He began to approach Charles slowly; Charles looked so vulnerable in that wheelchair, like a lost puppy - no - a beaten puppy - that Erik was suddenly overcome with a desire to protect him and feared that he may startle the creature if he moved too suddenly.

"Do you truly think of me - _did_ you think of me - simply as a friend? Or as something more? Please tell me," he said quietly, moving so close to that delicate white skin he was afraid he might lose himself, "and if you answer yes, then I won't bother you again. I promise." It pained him to say so, to promise to leave forever if Charles didn't want him, but Erik decided that he'd rather choose distance than hatred from Charles.

The lost-looking puppy had his eyes cast down. Acting on his desire to see those large cerulean irises again, which he had so missed, Erik brought Charles' face up to meet his own. They were two pools of sapphire beauty, turgid with emotions that Erik couldn't read.

"I…I…" Charles stuttered, and Erik waited for the anticipated words like a starved pet for milk. But they didn't come. Instead, Charles tried to look down, seeming almost afraid to answer, while his small pale face grew red from what Erik deemed to be discomfort or guilt, and for a moment the master bender of magnetic feared that the answer might just be what he _didn't_ want to hear.

Then Charles opened his mouth again to speak. The words that came next gave Erik hope like he had never hoped before.

"I missed you."

Erik was aware of a rapid blossoming of heat in his heart and chest, but he was level-headed enough to keep his hope and joy in check, just in case those words didn't insinuate what he hoped they did. Charles had not said _why_ he was missed, simply that he was. Was it because of love? Or because of friendship?

"But…do you _love _me?" he asked tentatively, afraid of the answer. But he had to know.

The young man widened his eyes and further reddened his face, and stuttered, rather irritably, "My face should tell you."

_Anger, joy, resentment…your face could mean a lot of things_, thought Erik. "I need to hear it from you."

"I…" said Charles, his feeble voice trailing off into god knows where. Erik waited patiently, and for several eternally long moments the two stared at one another without words. But Erik knew the words were not to come.

At last Erik couldn't stand it any longer. Hardly thinking of manners, he abruptly pulled close towards Charles' delicate face, towards those flushed lips, letting his surge of desire guide him. But he stopped, just short of touching, when he remembered that his knowledge of Charles' feelings towards him were still unclear. His breathing became irregular from the sudden self-control. The control, however, didn't extend to his vocal cords, and he allowed his deepest emotions to escape through his next words.

"I love you so much. I've missed you…so much." With such powerful, wild emotions, Erik wondered how he possibly held back and refrained from completely eliminating the physical distance between them.

The blue orbs couldn't get any larger or clearer, glittering from potential tears and trembling with emotions that Erik could only guess. Suddenly they turned away, and the pale, slightly pink face they decorated scrunched slowly into such a pained expression that Erik couldn't help but interrupt the thoughts behind it, to know why Charles was feeling so, and what he could do to turn the frown right side up.

"Charles," he implored desperately, "tell me what you're thinking. I need to hear your voice."

At the sound of his voice Charles looked up. The disappearance of the frown relieved Erik slightly. His eyes looked confusedly and searchingly at Erik's face, as if wondering what to say and analyzing what Erik was thinking.

Finally, he spoke. "Erik, I'm sorry….I cannot…I…I don't believe it will work between us. Our beliefs are too different. We consider each other enemies. And I don't know if we do…truly love each other."

Erik stared. Did Charles truly believe that a mere unevenness in their beliefs could impede the love they felt for each other? It had never occurred to Erik that his beloved doubted his feelings. Erik had, he believed, made it quite clear that Charles was more than a dear friend that day on the beach; and here, now, by coming over in the dark of the night to see him, there should be a very clear - though unstated - message that he loved Charles, and deeply so.

Perhaps it wasn't clear enough?

Then Erik will just have to show him.

Determined that Charles should know the truth about his feelings, he removed the barrier between, which he had not touched since the day on the beach, fearful of other telepathic mutants discovering the secret he held most dearly. "Charles, you are mistaken," he said, placing the helmet aside, "I beg of you, search my mind. You will know that I do not lie about this." He closed his eyes and allowed the full rush and intensity of his emotions to burst through his mind.

Then he felt it. The soft, whispery feel of psychological tendrils from Charles' mind. It was tentative, uncertain, and Erik guided it by rolling his torrid emotions towards them. As soon as the tendrils made contact, they withdrew sharply, as if they'd been burned, and Erik saw Charles wince in response. Then they came in again, a little bolder this time, and wrapped themselves gently around Erik's mind, though firmly, and for a while they remained so, allowing Charles to see what he saw, to think how he thought, to feel how he felt.

The intensity of his emotions soon became too much for Charles and Erik felt a gradually fading presence of Charles' tendrils as they withdrew. The contact had been soothing, and now that it was gone, Erik suddenly felt a little empty.

As he watched Charles, a small glint appeared in the corner of one of Charles' eyes. It traced a slight silver arc down the cheek, sliding down hesitantly, and Erik, hating how vulnerable it made Charles seem, crushed and wiped it away with his thumb.

Charles should understand now. Erik didn't doubt that telepathy must have conveyed to Charles the fullest extent of his own feelings as if they were Charles' own. "Do you understand?" he asked.

The young man, seeming numbed from the experience, nodded.

"I need you by my side," said Erik desperately. "You are…everything to me. You were the one who brought me out of the murk. You gave light to my life. You were the first not to see me as a weapon. Please," he asked again, "what am I to you?"

Silence met his question, and for what seemed like an eternity, silence was their companion. There was a determined strain around Charles' mouth and furrowed brows, while rivers of silver droplets leaked out the blue eyes. For a long time Erik waited in vain to hear an answer. Perhaps, he thought, if he waited long enough, there would be an answer.

But it did not come. From the look on Charles' face, it seemed that it would never come.

_Then there is probably only one likely answer_, thought Erik. An answer that Erik didn't want to hear, an answer that Charles politely held back to spare him the pain.

_So that's how it is. _

_ Then..._

As the stinging feeling of realization hit him, an equally shocking wave of anguish followed suit. Suddenly the proximity to Charles was unbearable, now that he thought he knew what his beloved felt. Erik withdrew his hands, put on his helmet, and stood up. He walked away, each step bringing pain and relief - it was hard, so hard, to keep calm, and when he reached the window through which he had first entered the room, he apologized for having intruded. "I'm sorry. I understand. I won't bother you anymore." _I understand that you don't love me. _

_And it's all right, Charles. I shall be happy…as long as you are._ He was trying to convince himself, but his attempts were met with little success. His heart was about to burst from the blackness of despair.

Erik leapt out of the room and flew away with as much as speed as he could muster, and didn't look back.


	4. Epilogue

Epilogue

And that is how Charles' silence, Erik's misconception and their unrequited love came to be.

Since that night, not a single day went by when each did not think about the other, wondering what the other was thinking, wanting to know what went wrong and wishing deeply, fiercely, that they could go back and change where they had gone amiss. Whenever they met later in the future, on battlefields or by chance, they constructed and wore cold, emotionless masks behind which they could hide and restrain their longings.

Erik never removed his helmet.

Charles always kept a distance from the people he knew.

The masks hid their true emotions from the other, but most of all, from themselves.

At first, it was hard. So, so hard. Sometimes they just wanted to forget it all and see each other, only to be reminded of the consequences. Of course, as time went by, it became easier and easier to maintain their masks. There even came days when they believed that their feelings were no more than youthful fantasies, simply products of raw, poorly directed emotions inherent in the young.

But deep in their hearts, until the day their lives were no more, they knew that their love for one another was true, and never wavered.

_**And that is the end of my sad, sad story. **_

_**Thank you so much for following. **_


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